


The Memory Is No Friend

by bmart57



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Arguing, Bucky has unhealthy coping mechanisms, Civil War Coda, M/M, Suicide Attempt, not explicitly slash but come on, pot meet kettle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-21
Updated: 2018-04-21
Packaged: 2019-04-25 21:40:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14387670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bmart57/pseuds/bmart57
Summary: “Did you try to find a way to jump out? Did you try to fix the navigation? Did you try tolive,Steve?” Bucky’s voice cracked and Steve winced at the stabbing sensation that went through his gut at the sound. “Did you even want to?”“I told you, there wasn’t time–”“Look me in the eyes and tell me that there was no other option.”





	The Memory Is No Friend

Steve closed the hotel door behind him with a soft click, not bothering to turn the light on as he entered. He unfastened and pulled off his black gloves, tossing them on the bed. With a weary sigh, he ran a hand through his stiff blonde locks that were still gritty with fallen rubble.

The moonlight streamed through the opened curtains, illuminating the bottom half of the plush, stark white comforter. Steve settled down on the edge of it, his aching muscles protesting at the movement. He winced, reaching a hand up to massage his throbbing shoulder.

A gentle hum came from the zipped side pocket of his tactical uniform. He unzipped it and pulled out the high-tech cell phone he still had trouble parsing. T’Challa’s serious face lit up the screen and Steve felt his stomach sink.

With a shaky thumb, he accepted the call. “It’s Steve.”

“How are you, Captain?” T’Challa’s warm voice lacked the urgency that would suggest an emergency or even bad news. Steve’s anxiety only abated by about half.

“I told you, I’m not Captain America anymore.”

T’Challa tisked. “We have a proverb in my country. My father used to repeat it to me often when I forsook my royal responsibilities. ‘A lion, once he rules the pack, can not return to being a mere sheep.’”

Steve sandwiched the phone between his shoulder and ear and bent over to unlace his boot. “Yeah, well, I never wanted to rule a pack. I just wanted to help people.”

“You will always be Captain America. Shield or no shield.”

Steve pulled his left boot off with a scowl, dropping it on the floor next to him. “You call just to lecture me?”

“You know I didn’t. How was your mission?”

Unlacing his right boot, Steve said, “It got a little dicey in the middle, but Sam was able to get the stolen files.”

“That is excellent news. And everyone is safe?”

“All in one piece.” Steve pulled off his left boot and dropped it next to his right one. He flexed his toes, keeping his eyes fixed on them as he cleared his throat. “How’s– how are things on your end?”

“They are going as well as can be expected.”

“So, B– he’s...awake?”

“He is. Shuri has found a way to deprogram some of the conditioning he received. It seems to also be restoring many of his memories. It is slow work, but it has been successful so far.”

Steve took a shallow breath. “That’s amazing.”

“It is.” T’Challa’s tone was hesitant.

The hope that had begun to rise in Steve’s chest sank. “What’s the problem?”

After a pause, T’Challa said, “Sergeant Barnes is refusing to speak with any of our highly trained mental health professionals. We can heal his brain, but we cannot heal his trauma if he remains unwilling to do so.”

Steve scrubbed a hand across his face, the course hairs of his beard tickling his palm. “Does he really need to talk to some head-shrink? Maybe with a little time…”

“Captain.” Steve stiffened at the sharpness in T’Challa’s tone. “Your friend nearly died. He lost a limb, and had his humanity tortured out of him for a century so he could be turned into a monster who murders the innocent. Are you aware he remembers all of the lives he has taken? Every one. I overheard him telling Shuri while they were working.”

“I’m aware,” Steve said curtly. Each of T’Challa’s words hit Steve like physical blows. Your fault, your fault, your fault, he thought.

“Steve.” T’Challa’s tone softened. “He needs help. If you truly want your friend back, he needs this. Will you come?”

He took a deep breath and pretended that it came out steadier than it did. “Of course.”

“You will not regret it.”

Steve huffed, a small, humourless sound. “I don’t know about that. But thank you, T’Challa. For everything.”

“You are welcome. Be ready in an hour. I will send a plane to retrieve you and your friends.”

–––

Steve stepped off the carrier onto the palace’s landing pad flanked by Sam and Wanda. Despite the lateness of the hour, the city lights made the landing site as light as day. T’Challa stood outside the palace waiting for their arrival, a few guards not far behind him. He smiled at them, grasping Steve’s arm when they walked up. “Thank you all for coming.”

“Thanks for the ride, man,” Sam said.

T’Challa nodded his head, and they all turned toward the palace entrance. “I am sure you are all exhausted after your busy day. I have made accomodations for you to have a meal and rest in the guest quarters if you would like.”

Sam’s body sagged. “You have no idea. All I need right now is to eat an entire cow and then sleep for like three days.”

The automatic door glided open, and the group entered the opulent building. No matter how many times Steve went to the Wakandan palace, he didn’t think he’d ever get over the awe he felt when entered it. The intricate mixture of technology and unusual design was like no other place he'd been before.

“I don’t know if an entire cow has been prepared, but I am sure if you ask nicely, our kitchen staff will be willing to oblige.” T’Challa grinned. He nodded to a staff member waiting in the hall. “Zushiki will show you to your rooms.”

“We appreciate your hospitality, your highness,” Wanda said.

T’Challa bowed his head. “You are always welcome here.”

She smiled softly at him, and then she and Sam followed Zushiki down the hall, taking a turn and falling out of Steve’s sight.

“You have had a long day as well, Captain. If you feel you need to rest–”

“No,” Steve interrupted. “I want to see him.” His mouth felt dry. He swallowed. “If he’s not asleep, I mean.”

“He rarely sleeps.” T’Challa tilted his head, indicating the direction they should walk. “I’ve been informed he has nightmares, so he avoids sleeping when he can. I believe he is in the fitness center currently. He spends much of his free time there.”

Steve nodded, and they walked through the palace, their footsteps the only sound in the nearly-empty halls. They stopped outside of an opaque door, and T’Challa hit a button to make it slide open.

Bucky was hitting a heavy-duty punching bag on the far side of the room. With his super-hearing, Bucky must have heard the door open, but he didn’t stop his rhythm or glance up. “I will give you some privacy to speak,” T’Challa said. “Good luck, Captain.” Excusing himself with a nod, he walked back the way they had come.

Steve took a few hesitant steps into the gym, and the door slid closed behind him. His heart rate increased as he walked across the padded floor. He looked around at the high-tech workout equipment, shoving the sleeves of his long-sleeved shirt up as he went.

When he was a few feet away from Bucky and his friend still hadn’t stopped hitting the bag, Steve said, “I think you got ‘em on the ropes there, pal.”

Bucky’s movement stalled, his punch glancing off the side of the bag as he looked up at Steve. Sweat was beaded on Bucky’s forehead and running in rivulets down his neck. His dark hair was knotted messily on the back of his head with a hair tie, pieces of it having come loose during his workout.

“Steve,” Bucky said, gasping for breath. Steve wondered how long exactly he’d been at this to have pushed his body to the edges of its endurance. “You’re here.”

“In the flesh. How you feeling, Buck?” Steve spread his arms, and Bucky stepped into them, wrapping his arms tightly around Steve’s middle.

“I’m good,” Bucky said, patting Steve on the back.

“It’s good to see you.”

“You too.” They released their embrace, and Bucky’s eyes trailed to Steve’s beard. “Nice scruff.”

Steve rubbed his beard. “Yeah, well. Trying to stay low-key. Works better than a baseball cap. Nice hardwear.”

“Thanks.” Bucky stretched his new metal arm out for Steve to admire. “Shuri made it. Great kid, and smart as hell. She asked if I wanted it to look, you know, normal. But I don’t know.” Bucky shrugged. “Got used to the metal, I guess.”

“Yeah, I get that.” Steve said. Bucky pulled his metal arm back in and used it to unwrap his right hand, revealing swollen, bruised knuckles. The bruises didn’t look all fresh, either. They were layered yellows, greens, and purples. Steve narrowed his brow in concern. “Buck, you hand.”

“Oh,” Bucky said, his face flushing a dull pink. “Yeah. It’s fine. It’ll heal before long. You know how it is.”

“I do know how it is. How long have you–”

“It’s fine, Steve. Really.” He bent down and picked up a water bottle from the floor. “Not that I’m not happy to see you, but what are you doing here? I thought you’d be off saving the world and all that.” Bucky took a drink of his water.

“I’m here to see you.” Steve cleared his throat. “I wanted to see how you’re holding up.”

“Well, I’m right as rain.” Bucky smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. Actually, Steve couldn’t remember the last time one of Bucky’s smiles had been able to chase the shadows out of his eyes. “I guess T’Challa told you about the brain stuff with Shuri.”

“He did. He said it’s going well.”

Bucky tilted his head. “He said right. I’m a few months out from being good as new.”

Steve hummed. “That so?”

“Yep.” Bucky’s shoulders squared subtly. Steve knew a battle stance when he saw one. He tried to keep his own posture as relaxed as he could.

“That’s interesting, because the way T’Challa tells it, you still got a lot of work to do with the doctors, and you’re refusing to even talk to ‘em.”

Bucky huffed. “So, that’s why you’re really here. Sorry you wasted a trip, but T’Challa’s wrong. I don’t need to talk to some damn head-shrinks.”

Shame washed through Steve to hear Bucky’s words echo his own from earlier that evening. He could see now he had been way off-base. Bucky clearly needed some kind of help. “C’mon, Buck. It’s not like when we were kids. It’s different now. The shrinks aren’t just for crazy people or whatever. Hell, after everything you been through, you’d be crazy not to be a little messed up.”

Bucky shook his head. “I’m so sick of people poking around in my damn head. I want to finish up this stuff with Shuri and be left alone. Why is that so hard for everyone to understand?”

“It’s not the same thing, Bucky. The therapists just want to help you get better.”

“Better?” Bucky laughed. “You think there’s a manual for what I been through? ‘How to Recover from a Century of Being a Brainwashed Murderer for Russian Terrorists’? There is no getting better from that. They can’t help me.”

Steve narrowed his eyes. “They definitely can’t if you don’t try.”

Bucky’s steps were stiff as he walked over to the wall and dropped his hand wraps in a bin. “You know,” he said, still facing the wall, “that’s really fucking rich coming from you, Steve.”

Steve stood up straighter. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“How many shrinks did you talk to when you woke up, huh?” Bucky spun around, glaring at him. “Did you spend a lot of time talking about your feelings? Or did you pick the shield right back up and bury all your shit? ‘Cause I’m betting it’s the second one.”

Steve looked away from Bucky at the punching bag. It stood out in the room of futuristic-looking exercise equipment. Steve wondered if Bucky had asked for it specially. “This isn’t about me,” he said. “What we went through, it’s not the same.”

“Yeah, you’re right. It’s not. I didn’t choose what happened to me.”

Steve looked back at Bucky sharply, his blood starting to boil beneath his skin. “Oh and I did? I chose to watch my best friend die right in front of me?”

Bucky’s expression softened, but his tone didn’t lose its edge as he said, “No, that you didn't.”

“So I chose crash into the Arctic? To wake up in a world where everyone I knew was dead?”

Bucky raised his eyebrows. “I don’t know. Did you?”

“Of course not!”

Bucky stalked a few steps closer, closing the distance between them. “I’ve been awake a few weeks now. Had a little time on my hands between sessions of trying to fix my messed up brain. Shuri showed me how to use their system. It’s pretty intense, actually. You can access just about anything no matter the classification.”

Steve felt dread wash over him like a tidal wave, slowly and then crashing down on him all at once. He could feel the color draining from his face. “And?”

“I found the file on the Valkyrie. When you told me about the crash, you failed to mention that it was only four days after the train. You also didn’t mention you were hundreds of miles from any city when you went down.”

Steve looked away from Bucky’s piercing gaze. “There wasn’t time…”

“Don’t bullshit me. You had time. You also had access to some of the greatest strategic minds the United States had to offer. Did you even try to find another way?”

“You don’t understand.” Steve shook his head. “I had to make a choice. People were going to die–”

“Did you try to find a way to jump out? Did you try to fix the navigation? Did you try to live, Steve?” Bucky’s voice cracked and Steve winced at the stabbing sensation that went through his gut at the sound. “Did you even want to?”

Clenching his jaw, Steve insisted, “I told you, there wasn’t time–”

Bucky stepped closer, leaving less than a foot between them. “Look me in the eyes and tell me that there was no other option.”

Memories passed through Steve’s mind like a television screen in fast forward. How afraid he felt when he realized he wouldn’t be able to stop the plane and all those people would die. How frantically he tried to think of solutions, dismissing most of them out of hand because he didn’t have time and couldn’t afford to be wrong.

And finally, the relief he felt when he strapped into the pilot’s seat and told Peggy he would have to drive the plane down himself. The way Peggy’s pleading had been a comfort, but not enough of one for him to try harder.

And worst of all, the emergency escape button for the pilot that Steve pretended not to notice and never bothered to try and push to see if it had a malfunction. The one he never told anyone about.

Almost as if he could see the images passing through Steve’s head, Bucky’s face crumbled. “How could you do that, Steve?”

“You don’t understand,” Steve whispered, avoiding Bucky’s pain-filled eyes.

“You’re damn right I don’t!” It was the first time Bucky had been exactly like he was before all of it, with none of the ice behind his eyes. To have that now, in this moment, was one of the cruelest jokes the world had ever played on Steve. It threw him off in more ways than one.

“I–” Steve took a few steps away to give himself some space. “I finished the mission. The war was all but over. I did my duty–”

Bucky exhaled, tears gathering in his eyes that he was trying desperately to blink away. “Your duty."

“You don't get what it was like.” Steve carded a hand through his hair, swallowing back the tears that were threatening to spring up in his own eyes. “After you fell, Bucky, I had nothing!”

“You had everything! You had the commandos. Peggy. All of goddamn America behind you!”

Steve narrowed his eyes. “Yeah, and none of it meant anything without you!”

Bucky’s anger melted away as the tear from his right eye gave in and slid down his face. He swiped it away with his bruised knuckles. “Steve…”

Steve blinked rapidly and swallowed around the lump in his throat. “Look, none of this matters anymore. You’re here and I’m fine. Now we just need to get you better.”

“You’re fine, huh?” Bucky crossed his metal arm over his human one, like he was creating a physical barrier to protect himself. “And what happens the next time I get blasted away or fall off a cliff? Am I supposed to take comfort in the fact that you won’t be far behind?”

Steve grimaced. “I guess you’ll just have to stay alive, then, won’t you?”

“Damn it, Steve!”

“I need you to take care of yourself, Bucky.” Steve felt himself slipping into his ‘Captain America’ voice. Bucky noticed too, if his hurt face was any indication. “Go see the doctors and get better. I need my best guy at my six.”

“Steve, please.” Bucky pleaded, lowering his defenses. He dropped his arms by his side.

Steve tried half-heartedly to fight the numbness that washed over him when he became Captain America. He didn’t have it in him. Not usually, and definitely not now. A gulf of distance growing between him and Bucky, and Steve was powerless to stop it. T’Challa was right; Steve would always be Captain America. Through and through.

“Try and get some sleep. And put some ice on that hand.”

He turned and walked back to the entrance of the gym, when he heard Bucky said behind him, “Whatever you say, Captain.”

Steve stopped and closed his eyes. He released a breath and walked through the door, the only sound his own footsteps and the nearly-silent woosh of the door closing behind him.


End file.
